At a Window
by BellaMonte
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is reluctant to bring Frodo along on his trip to Bree, where Gandalf has asked to meet him. Though he's warned Frodo not to go wandering the foul, dangerous streets, the little hobbit imagines one stroll won't get him into any trouble.
1. Default Chapter

Title: At a Window

Author: BellaMonte

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own not the characters, storyline, etc.

Summary: A story written, half as a deal with Claudia that she write a new chapter of the brilliant "Shire Slave," also because BellaMonte hasn't completely drained herself of her obsession with ruffian characters from Oliver Twist.

_Chapter 1: Restless_

There was a market just outside the Prancing Pony, which assembled every morning at the crack of dawn and only began to disperse in late evening. The Big People flocked before the various stands to buy and trade everything one would need in a home – pots, quilts, one stand sold wooden furniture, another cloaks and offered free repairs on torn clothing. And of course there was food. Big, rosy apples, luscious strawberries, fresh vegetables and wheat, no doubt grown in the fields just outside the village and picked that morning! The smell of sausages and freshly baked bread wafted up from just below the young hobbit's window, tantalizing him all the more to lean his head out the window and savor the delicious scents as they drifted past.  
  
Oh, it was a marvelous scene!  
  
And it was not merely the items being exchanged (though food had excusably significant value to a hobbit observer) but the activity amongst the people themselves that he found so fascinating! At this very moment, a few hearty fellows erupted in peals of laughter after a joke was declared, too far away for him to hear. There were a few scruffy, cloaked men strutting through the street, seemingly oblivious to the bustle around them. Amidst the cheerful chatter, or sometimes less than amiable trades of some of the more persuasive traders, he could spot a few young children darting through the crowd, giggling happily as they fought to disguise themselves from the one that was it.  
  
Perhaps it _was_ crowded, noisy, and difficult to weave through, as his uncle claimed. Yet from here, it looked exciting and a throng of people gathered in one place could be quite useful if you're playing catch with your friends. He smiled fondly at remembering the times when he and his cousins would use their aunt's billowing skirts as hiding places, or their cousins as detours for dodging the one that was catching everyone else.  
  
Perched over the windowsill of the Prancing Pony, Frodo Baggins couldn't help but expel a long, weary sigh. He sat with his chin cupped in one hand, his fingers drumming the sill with the other, his habitually bright eyes wandering morosely over the great assembly below.  
  
His feet had been itching him all day to scramble out the window and down the drain pipe that hung just a foot away. Then he would hear his uncle's firm command ringing in his ears.  
  
_"It's the same bustle as everyday, my lad. You'd grow tired of it."  
  
"But Uncle Bilbo, it looks so interesting! It's so much different in the way I keep seeing different people every day. It's so unlike Hobbiton and certainly Brandy Hall, where everyone can practically declare lineage practically by your passing shadow – "  
  
"My lad, don't. Don't try to change my mind. Truly, Frodo. It pains me enough that I gave in to your pleas to come along in the first place. I cannot have you falling into some mischief or getting hurt in this foul village."  
_  
They had traveled to Bree three days ago, after Bilbo had received word from his great wizard friend, Gandalf, that some important matters needed to be discussed and he would be unable to make it as far as the Shire himself.  
  
Even when Frodo dismissed the mysteriousness (and therefore intrigue) of the letter itself, and the chance to meet Gandalf again, this news – a trip outside the Shire, to a place he'd never been to before! – was enough to ignite the youthful hobbit's curiosity ablaze.  
  
For days he begged Bilbo if he could come, promising not to get into trouble or cause him any trouble. Yet every time his uncle answered back with an adamant "no," fearing some dire misfortune would happen upon him in Bree. Bilbo had traveled through the village before and knew it to be foul and unfriendly. He could not surmise himself why Gandalf insisted they meet in such a place, unless it was under the most serious circumstances. All the more reason why he felt extremely reluctant to bring his nephew along, unknowing the purpose of the trip or how long they would be there.  
  
In the end, Frodo managed to cajole his uncle, partly by his own cleverness, partly by luck. The Gamgees lost one of their aunts to the fever, and were unexpectedly called to Michael Delving, leaving Bilbo with no close neighbor who he trusted enough to leave his nephew with on short notice. So that meant he was bringing Frodo with him. But, despite the lad's continuing protests, he kept him safe and tucked away in their room at the Prancing Pony and refused to allow him to come with on his daily excursions to the place where Gandalf had agreed to meet him.  
  
Frodo had been sure he would have been able to convince his uncle by now to bring him along. But no, three days had passed, and he was still stuck in their cramped room at the Prancing Pony.  
  
Frodo expelled another sigh, his tired gaze still wandering the marketplace below. At least Bilbo would be home soon. He could tell from the way the market was coated in a bright, golden glow of late afternoon sun that the day was coming to his close, and his uncle would be returning. Hopefully Gandalf would have arrived today! Then he would be coming to visit as well. At this point, Frodo couldn't wait to return home since his uncle wouldn't allow him to go any farther past this Inn.  
  
Finally resigning his attention to the new book Bilbo had bought him, his eyes just began to wander the opening page when the familiar jingle of keys and the clinking of the door handle reached his ears. He sprang up from his seat just as the door opened, revealing a very weary and sunburned Bilbo Baggins.  
  
"Bilbo!" Frodo cried, his own melancholy vanquished at the return of his uncle.  
  
"Hullo, Frodo-lad," Bilbo greeted, returning his nephew's hug. "Have a good day?"  
  
"Yes," the tweenager answered, automatically. As he stepped back to allow his uncle to remove his coat, he inwardly sighed to recognize the weariness and mounting frustration in his uncle's face to mean that the old wizard had not arrived.  
  
"No sign of Gandalf again?" he asked, biting his lip in effort to hide his disappointment.  
  
Bilbo shook his head, his lips pressed together in a tired frown. "It's seems some matter of business had detained him for a few more days."  
  
"You make it sound as though he's selling apples in the market," Frodo said, dryly.  
  
"Oh, let's hope it's more serious than that. I was thinking myself what breed of monster or dragon it must be that has got him in its talons."  
  
The thought struck the younger hobbit far more acutely than was intended and he raised his eyes, sapphire eyes bright with worry. "You don't think he might be in trouble with a dragon, do you?" he breathed.  
  
Bilbo lifted his gaze from the great bag he'd hefted onto the table, and the first real spark of humor came into his eyes. He chuckled.  
  
"I seriously doubt it. But nonetheless we'll have to just wait a few more days. A wizard often comes not when he's expected, but when he means to. Anyway, I did manage to buy us some food that we can store for our journey home. I hadn't known there were so many foods available in Bree. . . not as good as the markets in Hobbiton, but we can endure for a few days longer. ."  
  
Lifting out various vegetables from the bag, the older hobbit paused to see an unguarded look of sadness in his nephew's sapphire eyes as they wandered to the floor, his small shoulders drawing into himself.  
  
For the thousandth time that week, Bilbo felt a crushing guilt for bringing the lad along. He hadn't wanted to leave him with Dora, knowing her patience for little ones only withstood a single day at a time, but perhaps it would have been better.  
  
"Frodo, I'm really sorry about this," Bilbo sighed, moving to sit beside him and put an arm about his shoulder. "I know this must be terribly boring for you, my lad. But you must stay here. Gandalf shouldn't make us wait for much longer, a day or two more if anything. And when he does come, I'll make sure he takes us all on a great hike about Bree before we journey back to Hobbiton. How does that sound?"  
  
Despite the mounting downcast look in his face, Frodo managed to muster a big smile in anticipation. His uncle grinned back. "Now," he said, squeezing his shoulder before rising and resuming to put on his coat. "Let's run downstairs and see what dinner Butterbeer's prepared for us tonight."  
  
TBC  
  
Did I make it evident enough that Frodo's not going to wait that long before taking a little trip outside? :)


	2. A Slip Out the Door

Title: At a Window

Author: BellaMonte

E-Mail: 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The characters, place of setting, etc. all belong to one J.R.R. Tolkien

Summary: A tweenage Frodo Baggins, bored being cooped up in the Prancing Pony while his uncle goes in search for Gandalf, begins sneaking out amongst the crowded marketplace and inhabitants of Bree. Trouble ensues.

_Chapter 2: A Slip Out the Door_

"Come along, lad! Breakfast will be gone soon if don't hurry."

"One moment Uncle," Frodo called, rummaging hurriedly through his bag for a vest. At long last he found one, crushed on the bottom of his poorly-packed traveling bag, yet perfectly clean and no worse for wear. Yanking it on, he rushed out the door, quickly doing up the buttons with clumsy fingers.

Bilbo waited for him in the hallway, already dressed to go out for the day in a shoddy coat, his vest and trousers drab and worn. They had been warned at first coming that it was unsafe to wear bright colors, especially the hobbits, the sign of wealth attracting pickpockets. It was best to just blend in with the crowd. "And I thought you were so eager to escape our room," Bilbo said with a chuckle, giving Frodo's tousled curls a fresh ruffle.

"I'm awake," he said, blinking rapidly to clear away the graininess in his eyes. "I just couldn't fall asleep last night." He bit his tongue before adding it had been the boisterous noise and crazy laughter wafting through their window that kept him up. Secretly, he'd hoped to somehow convince Bilbo to let him come with him today, so he didn't mention the disturbances outside.

"Yes, there was a brawl last night in the street, I could hear it too," Bilbo sighed deeply as they descended the stairs. "This village was once so quiet and peaceful. That was when more hobbits lived here, now most have returned to the Shire. It's a terrible shame, Butterbur's warned me of the bad company that's slowly started to settle here."

"Warning young Frodo away from the cook's eggs and bacon, Master Baggins?" Butterbur questioned from across the near-empty common room.

Together he and Bilbo shared a good chuckle, and even Frodo managed a small smile, his frustration already mounting to know Bilbo had heard the noise outside too. The innkeeper of the Prancing Pony was a kindly, soft-spoken man with a full, cheery face. He'd been very attentive to making sure they were comfortable at the Prancing Pony, and Frodo found him pleasant company.

"On the contrary, my dear friend," Bilbo replied, "I was just trying to coax him downstairs to fetch the last before all was gone."

Seating themselves at their custom table, tantalizingly close to the front entrance, the two hobbits waited for tea. As the kindly innkeeper and Bilbo began speaking, Frodo's attention was quickly diverted at the sight of a few boys, as well as hobbits, gathering together at the entrance of the inn, some of them holding fishing sticks and buckets. Frodo's eyes clung to the scene despairingly, wanting so much to be able to go fishing right now himself; even a walk would make him feel better. . .

"Yes, we had a fair crowd in here earlier," Butterbur said, pouring them both tea. "Most have gone out for the day, the weather is so fine and fair. It's to be a great market day with the showers we just had, all the fruits should be fresh and plentiful."

Setting the cup down before Frodo, Butterbur noticed how the younger Baggins was looking rather sullen today. He slouched tiredly against the table, his chin buried in his hand, staring tiredly into space. "You're looking rather peaky this morning, little master," Butterbur noted with a gentle frown as he set Frodo's cup before him. "Did you not sleep well last night?"

"Unfortunately no, for either of us," Bilbo confessed, tiredly.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Master Baggins," he said, sounding very much so. "Is there anything wrong with the room?"

"Not at all. There was a fight or drunken rivalry of some sort taking place outside in the streets. It was rather loud, and kept us both up."

Frodo was only half-listening, his attention still directed at the entrance, yet he turned just in time to observe Butterbur's thick eyebrows scrunch together, the rest of his face remaining calm and disguising his anger. "I'm afraid that's become a common complain in the last few years. I've grown used to it myself, forced to hearing it every night, and even having to put up with it in here at times if I'm to have business at all. . . but it shouldn't be so."

"Are there no officials to silence them?"

"The rangers in charge of keeping the peace in these parts have taken to roaming the forests outside of here more often, where much of the crime and robbery takes place. And the jailers . . . well, I'm afraid they're not made of the sternest stuff and don't make much of an effort to break up the ruffians that roam the streets. They're an infamous bunch. . . I've no doubt they're involved in some breed of crime. They cause enough trouble as it is in the markets and at night. But just as long as they don't go breaking into our homes now. . ." Butterbur trailed off with a sigh and a sad shake of his head.

As he listened, Frodo couldn't help but think that his Uncle and Butterbur both were seeing merely the bad of the situation. As Butterbur had just said, it was a glorious day outside and the market would be fresh with wonderful foods, and company to meet! He'd certainly watched the comings and goings enough there from his window, and while some of the folk were less than friendly, plenty were just as cheerful and friendly as his dear neighbors in Hobbiton. Certainly they were taking the troubles in Bree too much to heart, just as his Aunt Peony was wont to do at a party, disregarding all the delightful decorations and presents, and speaking only of the things that had gone wrong.

"Yes, well," Butterbur murmured, pouring Bilbo a second cup of tea. "It's not the most cheerful situation at present. I'm very sorry that you were disturbed. The only advice I could give is to keep the window closed at night."

"Oh, we could never do that. Frodo wouldn't hear of it," Bilbo said, chuckling. "The lad's always needed the fresh air and a view outside his window."

"Is that so?" Butterbur said, casting Frodo a warm, doting smile, the kind most often given to children when they've done something particularly amusing. Frodo could hardly bear them, never knowing if it was meant in good or bad humor. "Well, I'm sorry then, little master, that it is such a rough view," he finished, stacking the hobbit's plate with eggs.

"Oh no, it's wonderful," Frodo quickly responded. "I love all the activity down below in the markets, it's so much fun to watch, and there were a few people playing strange instruments just yesterday outside one of the shops, and there look to be so many wonderful-smelling fruits – " he cut off just as swiftly, closing his mouth in frustration to see the mild distress in the innkeeper's face.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the view of the market, Frodo, it can be rather difficult to maneuver when you're a little lad trying to make your way through it, however," Butterbur said.

"Yes, Frodo's been rather frustrated being here, not able to go anywhere, but I've told him it's not safe."

"Indeed, that is so," Butterbur nodded firmly in agreement. Even though Frodo knew it was kindly meant, he couldn't help the flare of anger that burned inside him at the way Butterbur and even Bilbo were speaking of him as though he were helpless. He was hardly a child anymore, he was a tweenager! "In fact, I fear for you as well, sir, going off everyday as you do," Butterbur added.

Bilbo waved him off as he placed a cloth in his lap. "I'm fine," he replied, "I've braved worse." Frodo fought the sudden urge to grumble that his uncle was only a head taller than him; he certainly would have no less trouble braving Bree. Then he remembered that his uncle _had _fought and defeated spiders, goblins, and Smaug. He hadn't done anything like that, at least not yet. "Though I share your concern," Bilbo continued his tone growing grave. "Bree has grown worse since my last coming here a few years back. It's precisely why I've kept Frodo upstairs, so he doesn't fall into any trouble."

Suddenly the attention switched entirely to Frodo, who was chewing his lip in mounting aggravation. A fresh wave of sadness came over him as well to hear that his uncle still intended to make him stay upstairs. He'd hoped to convince him to let him come today, especially since Gandalf had warned it might be a few more days. Now, seeing the uselessness in that, he abruptly closed his mouth.

"I can not agree with you more, Master Baggins," Butterbur said, patting Frodo's head. "This is a good lad here; I'll make sure he's kept safe while you're away."

At last the innkeeper turned to attend some arriving travelers, not noticing the deep flush that erupted in Frodo's cheeks.

Oh, it just wasn't fair! But Frodo knew there was nothing for it. His uncle rarely denied him anything; he'd brought him to Bree against his own wishes for him to stay home. This had been the one strict command his uncle had ever given. Yet the frustration Frodo swallowed down failed to dissipate, instead twisting into a miserable knot in his stomach. He moved the eggs around on his plate in disinterest, his legs kicking out from under the table in suppressed restlessness.

A few moments later Bilbo stood, asking him if he was finished, and Frodo nodded.

"You didn't eat much, are you feeling all right?"

"I'm not very hungry," he responded, lamely.

"Oh . . . well, perhaps Butterbur could fix you something nice up before lunch if you need. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Frodo nodded, yawning.

"Well . . . I'm off," Bilbo said, getting up. "Do you like the books I left?" Bilbo asked, hopefully, putting on his coat. "I see you started one last night."

"Yes uncle, thank you," he said, feigning interest. He hadn't really read the book last night, he'd been too distracted by the noises and the ever-growing restlessness to just be up and about again.

"I'll be back early, Frodo. I'll bring some of your favorite apples from the market, I promise," he said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading out the door.

Trudging up the stairs, Frodo tripped halfway, his large hobbit foot missing the ledge. He only fell down a step or two, but decided to just sit there, his chin cupped in his hands, watching customers come and go.

It was still strange watching the men and women who came and went, their forms towering over twice his height. Unlike hobbits, who were typically curly-haired, the men wore their hair longer and lay straight and often ragged round their scruffy faces. They dressed differently, in the worn and travel-stained cloaks and tunics, and of course they were shoes, a rather comical detail in Frodo's eye. He couldn't imagine how terribly bothersome it must be to have to lace and unlace pieces of leather all the time. Yet they were so much taller, they could no doubt see out and beyond far what any hobbit could.

"Come on, Onslow!"

"Hold on, I'm grabbing my cloak!"

"Oh bother the cloak, it's warm as spring out! Just come on!"

Heavy tramping on the steps jerked Frodo out of his wandering gaze, and he quickly scrambled to the side of the steps as two boys flew down the stairs, meeting up with a small party that had just entered the ?xml:namespace prefix st1 ns "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" / Inn. As the young hobbit looked closer, he observed it was the same collection of boys and hobbits as he'd seen earlier that morning. The boys looked to be no more than 13 or 14 years old, though it was difficult to be sure. Yet the two hobbits along with them were certainly his age, and Frodo watched eagerly as the group whispered together.

"The river's flooded, we won't need bother to fish, and they'll be stranded all on the edge anyways!"

"It's rather muddy in the woods still, why not play Dragons and Warriors instead?" asked one of the hobbits. Frodo couldn't help grinning, the problem of muddy feet all too familiar.

"We'd need another to play that game, otherwise we're not even on players," spoke one of the boys, the others groaning.

Standing up from his crouched position, one of the boys glanced around himself, as if feeling a pair of eyes on him. At seeing the curly-haired hobbit sitting crouched on the stairs, the boy's small green eyes lit up and he pointed for the others to see as well.

"Look, there's our third warrior!" he declared, leaping over to the bottom of the steps with a grin. "Hello there! What's your name?" he asked, the others following him instantly.

"Frodo Baggins, at your service," he said, his cheeks reddening again. He hadn't really met anyone besides Butterbur and a few older hobbits in the common room these last few days, and felt surprisingly shy all of a sudden.

"Greetings Frodo, my name's Onslow, and these are my friends Charley, Will, and the two little ones here are Todo and Monto. Need I introduce them as hobbits?" he asked in good humor, ruffling one of the hobbit's curls deliberately.

"Come now, Onslow, stop!" Todo cringed, batting the hand away and laughing. Frodo couldn't help laughing himself, he'd never seen human boys and hobbits playing together, yet they all seemed like the greatest friends!

"It's very nice to meet you all," he said, "Do you all live in Bree?"

"We do indeed," Onslow said, whipping on his cloak. "Listen, we're about to go play Dragons and Warriors outside in the market area, would you like to come with us? We need six players, you see, and three hobbits against three of us will surely be a fair match!" he added with a joking leer.

Monto and Todo laughed. "Hardly, Onslow, we've the ability to duck and hide ourselves amongst the crowd far better than you three can," Monto replied, folding his arms before him in authority.

"Yes, and we know it. Come on, Frodo," Onslow said, tugging on his arm a bit. "It'll be great fun, why not join us?"

Frodo's first instinct was to leap off the stairs and tear through the doors along with them. He even considered how rude it would be to decline such a polite invitation, especially when they were in need of another player!

Bitter disappointment engulfed him quickly however, in knowing how upset Bilbo would be if he knew he'd snuck out. "Oh, I'm sorry. I can't," he said, sadly, plopping back down on the stairs.

"Oh come now, we need another player! We'll just be out in the market here, it's no distance," one of the other boys, Will, said encouragingly.

"I told my uncle I'd stay here today. He doesn't want me going out in the streets."

"But it's so fine out, I'd hardly think there will be trouble today. Will your uncle be back soon?" Todo asked.

"Well, no," Frodo confessed. He knew the boys were trying to persuade him, yet he was unable to protest the fact that no, Bilbo wasn't expected to come back till later in the day. . .

"Please come, Frodo," said the two hobbits.

"I can't," he groaned, dipping his chin into his hand once again. "I'm very sorry, but my uncle would be furious if he knew I left the Inn."

The group looked downcast, Monto and Todo especially, but they shrugged and began heading outside, wishing him good-bye. "It's no problem, Frodo, we understand. But if you change your mind, or if your uncle lets you come out another day, we'll be out here," Onslow said, clapping him on the shoulder before leaving himself.

Frodo sat for a moment, instantly regretting his decision. Frodo felt an ache of loneliness, greater than anything he'd felt these last few days, made all the worse by the reminder that Gandalf might not be arriving for several more days still. The boys were so friendly, quite unlike the bossy cousins he had that were bigger than he, and it was so nice to be with hobbits again!

He was glancing around himself, suspiciously searching out Butterbur before he even realized his purpose in doing so. After all, he was only going to be playing outside in the market! There could be no harm in that, and the others weren't frightened. Just one day he'd go out and play with them, and then he'd be able to handle a few more days cooped up in the room. He was surely doing Bilbo a favor in the long run, no doubt, sparing him from further complaints!

"Now I'll have a story to tell Sam when I get back," he said to himself, recalling his promise to Sam Gamgee that he would find Bilbo's trolls or some other form of adventure on his journey.

Butterbur stood at the other end of the common room, his back to the young hobbit peering round the door. In the instant Butterbur turned to the rapping of another customer announcing his presence, Frodo closed the distance between himself and the door, and fled outside.

TBC

Sorry this took so long! The next chapter's actually near-completed, so shouldn't be much of a wait. Please review! This always helps spur the motivation ;)


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